


Playing House

by i_just_knew1013



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Episode: s06e15 Arcadia, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-12-16 00:39:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11817588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_just_knew1013/pseuds/i_just_knew1013
Summary: What do you pack when you’re about to go undercover as the suburban wife of your extremely attractive coworker?





	1. Chapter 1

What do you pack when you’re about to go undercover as the suburban wife of your extremely attractive coworker? You need to appear believable as his wife, so you’ve already met with the FBI UC department and gotten your list of clothing requirements. You have your sensible skirts, your camisoles and matching sweater sets. You even have a string of pearls to make you look extra…wife-like? However, the rest of the packing is up to you. You were told that you might be on this assignment for as long as a week, and to plan accordingly. You have your toothbrush and your shampoo, your dental floss and your face cream. But now, you stand in front go your dresser, staring ominously at your open top drawer. Which pajamas do you pack? Do you take the standard button-down conservative ones you take on overnight cases? The ones that are the nighttime version of your daytime business suits and make you feel like, even if he sees you in them, you’re still appropriately dressed. Or, do you bring the satin peignoir that you bought on a whim last month, hoping you’d have some reason to wear it? Your eyes shift to your underwear section of the drawer. What kind of underwear does a suburban wife wear? Cotton, satin, briefs, a thong? You’re only pretending to be married. Surely you would have a talk about privacies and sleeping arrangements once you got to the house; though you wish the conversation had already been had. You realize you’ve been standing in one spot too long, make your choices and quickly shut the drawers so you can’t change your mind. You pack the rest of your items, stopping only to grab your trusty travel bullet from the nightstand and some fresh batteries. Being in such close proximity to him and pretending to be his wife, with none of the amenities, is going to require some stress-relieving sessions. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

You’ve been here 24 hours and you already want to simultaneously kill him and make out with him, but you’re not sure that’s different than any other day. For starters, he may be the only man within a thousand miles who still looks rugged and sexy in a pink Lacoste shirt and sweater around his shoulders. And when he teased you about wanting to play house, you felt that twinge just below your belly and your breath catch in your throat. You actually had to stop walking, breathe, and force an annoyed face as your response because you couldn’t formulate words just then. You’ve spent today pretending to be the dutiful wife, sitting next to him on the couch with his arm around you at Gogolak’s, laughing at his stale jokes during dinner at the Schroeders’, all while biting back smart-ass retorts. He’s gone out for a run, and you decided to grab a quick shower. You stand there, a towel wrapped around you head and another around your body, steam fills the air. There, on the counter, his belongings have been laid out next to yours. He has a razor, a toothbrush, dental floss, and aftershave. And although you’ve been on cases where you’ve ended up sharing motel rooms before, it feels so…intimate, having his things mingle with yours on the counter. Where in motel rooms things usually stay mostly in their travel bags when not in use, stacked on the edge of the sink or piled on the back of the toilet until they can be thrown back in to suitcases, here things are unpacked. Here, these items have taken up residence. You imagine what it would be like, if you were really married. How it might feel to stand side by side in your pajamas before the twin sinks, brushing your teeth before dressing for work. You gently graze your fingers down the handle of his razor and imagine him using it, carefully working the blade around the sharp edges of his jawline, careful not to disturb that beautiful mole. You hesitate for a moment before picking up his aftershave, lifting it gently to your nose and taking a measured breath. The front door slams, causing you to clatter the bottle back to the counter like you’ve been caught stealing cigarettes from your mother’s purse. He’s coming up the stairs two at a time, already talking to you, and you hear your cell phone ringing. You dress quickly, tuck your feelings inside, and exit the bathroom.

 

Later that night, you are lying in bed. Fuming. How dare he compare you to the Stepford-esque residents who live here? Just because you like things clean and put away and don’t throw your clothes all over the room or leave your sweaty disgusting shoes in the middle of the floor for people to trip over on the way to the bed does NOT mean there is something wrong with you. Not everyone had a maid to clean up behind them their whole lives. Some people had to move every two years and leave no traces that their families had ever lived somewhere. Now, you lie here, at 2 a.m., unable to sleep. You’re surrounded by the scent of him since he decided to roll all over your sheets with his sweaty body before you kicked him out to go sleep on his “bed”, the couch. Normally, if you’re being honest with yourself, you wouldn’t mind the smell of him in your sheets. In fact, the warm, just-returned-from-a-run fragrance of your partner has always turned you on, and you have the urge to burrow down in to the linens and never come out. The fact that it turns you on makes you even angrier. Doesn’t he know how much you would have loved to take him up on his offer earlier? You smile a little as you imagine his shocked face in this scenario. Then, you slip out of bed and retrieve the little satin pouch from the bottom of your suitcase and slip out your silver bullet. No sense in wasting an opportunity, you think, and say a silent blessing for quiet batteries.


	3. Chapter 3

You’ve had a lot of time to think today on your drive to and from San Diego. You argue with yourself about how he was wrong, whether he was right, and how much you just want him to “get” you. Except he does, and you know it. He gets you more than anyone else in your life every could or ever will. So what if he thinks you’re a little too buttoned up? You’ll just have to show him you can be buttoned down as well. You can let your hair down and relax, you think. You know he was just teasing you last night, but it irks you because it reminds you of all of those other agents who have whispered for years about you being the Ice Queen. The unapproachable stiff who has no friends anymore because all you do it work. Except you have him. He’s always there. He’s with you on all those cases out of town in places no one’s ever heard of. He reads you from across the room without words and is by your side before you can think to ask. You kind of hate how quickly you forgive him in your head sometimes. But when he quite literally saves your life and you his on a regular basis, it’s hard to stay angry at him for long. Even when you really really want to. You think back to the events from this morning. You intended to be up and out the door early so you could beat the traffic and, if you were being honest, so you didn’t have to pretend you weren’t still annoyed about comments from the night before. When you entered the kitchen there he was, standing in front of the open refrigerator drinking orange juice from the carton. His hair was mussed and he was shirtless, wearing only a pair of pale yellow pajama pants. Your breath hitched at the sight. Jesus, why was he so good looking? He hears you and turns, wiping the juice off his mouth with the back of his arm. After a quick greeting he launched in to his plan for the day to test the CC&Rs. You aren’t sure you heard most of what he said, because you were watching the smooth muscles in his torso contract with his movements. You think you responded appropriately as you gathered your things and headed to the door. He followed you, still talking, and when the door opened you saw Pat Verlander, the self-appointed neighborhood Welcome Wagon, waving from across the street. You smiled tightly and waved back, and when you turned to say goodbye to him, he put an arm around your back and pulled you in for a quick peck right next to your mouth. Before you could react, he bid you goodbye, waved at an approving Pat, and went back in the house. You stood, shocked for a few seconds, then walked numbly to the car. Now, on your way back to the house, you don’t know how you’re supposed to act. You aren’t really mad anymore, but your emotions are all over the place. He didn’t even kiss you on the mouth, just near it, and yet that kiss has been distracting you all day. The image of him there waiting for you to come home makes you nearly run to the car as you leave the lab. When you pull in to the driveway, you chastise yourself for hoping he'd greet you at the door. You enter the house, set your bag down, and hear a noise upstairs.


	4. Chapter 4

After you nearly brained him with a fireplace poker on the stairs, you both spent a lot of last night sitting on the couch discussing theories about who could be behind the disappearance of first the Klines, and now Big Mike. You weren’t in a huge hurry to go to bed anyway, after having heard someone else in the house. Eventually though, you both managed to fall asleep on the couch; him with his head against the back of the couch and you against his shoulder. Somewhere in the early hours of the morning, he shifted to find a more comfortable position lying down. In your haze of sleep and need for warmth you followed his movements until you were both lying on your sides, your back pressed agains his chest, his arm curled around your stomach. You were dimly aware that this was improper as his coworker, but at that moment you didn’t care because the feeling of having his arm around you was just too much to fight. You didn’t want to think about things that had happened or not happened or about what anything meant. You placed a hand on top of his, smiled, and drifted back to sleep. The next morning, you stand at the kitchen window, watching him oversee the digging up of the front yard. You take a sip of your coffee and smile in to your cup, thinking about how waking up this morning, with his arms around you and his nose nuzzling your neck, might be one of the best ways you have ever woken up. You both just laid there, not speaking, content in each other’s presence. The moment was short-lived, however, as it was interrupted by the arrival of the excavation team. He was so excited he nearly dumped you off the couch trying to get up and answer the door. Now, he stands there, hands on his hips and chest puffed out proudly as he dares anyone to challenge his “reflecting pool” project. You watch him talk to the neighbors, the ones that are panicking about the fact that he’s digging a giant hole in his well-manicured lawn. Honestly, how does anyone stand a chance trying to argue with that bottom lip of his? You glide your tongue slowly across your own lip, drawing it between your teeth as you hear his laugh. You think again about his arm around you on the couch this morning, his thumb gently grazing the underside of your breast and you feel a warmth spread throughout your body. You wonder how long the two of you will play this cat-and-mouse game. Who will break first and give in to the obvious attraction you both share? You know it will change your partnership drastically, but the question is, will it be for the better or worse? He senses you watching him through the window and turns to look at you, giving you that crooked smile that melts your heart. You mentally shake yourself, rinse out you mug, and go join him outside.


	5. Chapter 5

It’s 5 a.m. and the Übermenscher has been defeated. Once you escaped from the upstairs closet you were trapped in, you came downstairs to find your partner standing in a pile of fine dirt. What came next was hours of clean up. You had to call ADA Skinner and give a verbal report, get the local FBI crew out to secure the area, document the scene, and begin to clear out. Now the sun was rising, you’ve both been up 24 hours and are exhausted. Finally you’re able to catch a flight back to Washington. You managed to catch a nap on the plane, him against the window and you again on his shoulder, but you’re both still tired. Thankfully, it’s Friday and you won’t have to report back to the office until Monday. He drove you to your apartment and you’re sitting in the car, the engine idling softly as you both don’t know how to part ways. It’s strange, after living together for a week, how the thought of being alone feels lonely now. You offer to let him stay the night on the couch rather than try to drive home on almost no sleep. After a lift of his eyebrows and a mildly awkward joke, he agrees, and soon he’s shuffling down the hallway behind you, carrying both of your bags. You enter your apartment and turn on a lamp. He goes to the hall closet and begins pulling out the extra blankets and a pillow, no stranger to couch crashing. You think about the past week, and the number of times you wished things were different between the two of you. You decide this is your chance. As he passes you in the hall with the bed linens you stop him. Unable to meet his eyes, you place a hand on his arm.

“You don’t have to sleep on the couch, you know.” 

He looks at you, confused. You lift your eyes and smile, and he begins to understand. He drops the blankets as you take his hand, leading him toward your room.

“Mulder, I want to play House.”


	6. The Bedroom

Once in your bedroom, you release his hand and turn toward him, eyes focused on his chest. You’re suddenly nervous about what you’ve started and your breath quickens. He raises a hand and gently moves the hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear before sliding his fingers down to your chin, tilting up your face to meet your eyes. You see him searching your face, checking for confirmation that this is what you want, that you haven’t changed your mind. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you reach up, place one hand around the back of his neck and close the gap. The moment your lips meet his, all bets are off. Not even in your wildest fantasies did his kisses live up to the real thing. His lips are soft and warm, his kiss firm but not forceful. You feel his tongue, hot and slick, insistent and plush, begging for admittance and your grant it entry. He explores your mouth and you his, until you’re both gasping for air. His mouth then moves across your jawline and down your throat, tasting your skin along the way.

Your fingers are frantic, grasping for something, anything, to anchor you. You feel the belt loops of his pants, the denim a hard contrast to the soft skin just beneath it. You slide your index fingers in to the loops, thumbs dipping in to the waist band. You are momentarily distracted by the way your nails catch on the seam, counting each and every stitch. He moves closer, brushing his erection against your belly, and you open your mouth in surprise. You feel him smile agains your skin, the feel of his teeth sending a shiver straight to your core. 

Suddenly, your brain comes alive and you claw at the hem of his shirt, pulling it upwards until you get it off his body. His lips, which have traveled to your clavicle, leave your skin for a millisecond as the shirt passes over his head and returns in full force, sucking and nipping at the delicate skin where your pulse rapidly thrums. Your hands slide gloriously over the muscles in his back, cupping his shoulder blades, grazing his ribs with your fingertips, then roaming your hands around to his chest so you can slowly drag your nails over his pectorals, thumbing his nipples as you pass them. Your hands slide downward, following the soft trail of hair down the middle of his chest, stopping when you meet his belt only to circle back around and repeat their journey. 

You feel warm, too warm, and he helps you rid yourself of the practical sweater you were wearing. Separation forced by the removal of clothing your eyes meet, and you see an intensity in his gaze that you can only describe as feral. His eyes drop to your chest, and your breath quickens. You reach around and release the clasp and zipper from your pants, letting them pool at your feet before looking up at him again. You think about how well it worked out that you decided to wear the new creamy lace lingerie that you bought in San Diego, and how it wasn’t such a stupid purchase after all. Now he’s standing there, staring, looking almost afraid to touch you. You chew your lip. “Mulder…”

Suddenly he steps forward, his hands are on your waist and he’s lifting you. Your legs go around his waist as he crushes you in to a kiss. He carries you to the bed and sits down, with you in his lap. You push him to lie down and crawl backwards down him, unfastening his pants as you go. When you get to the zipper, you pull it slowly, watching as it strains against its contents. He takes a deep shaky breath and whispers something incoherent. He lifts his hips as you remove his jeans completely and return to his briefs. You slide a hand up and over him and he jerks his hips. In one swift move, he grabs you by the wrists and pulls you up to him, rolling you both over so he’s now on top. He runs a hand up the inside of your thigh and across the crotch of your panties, pressing through the thin lace with his fingers. You feel a surge of moisture escape as you arch your back slightly. His hands are now at your hips and they slowly slip your panties down and off, catching for only a moment on your toes before being tossed on the floor with the rest of your discarded clothing. His hand has returned, his fingers slowly stroking, asking permission. You let your knees fall further apart, granting him access. His mouth has been slowly kissing your stomach during this time, tongue dipping in and out of your navel. Now he slides up to your breasts, taking one in to his mouth through the lace of your bra. His hot tongue is wet and strong, pressing against your nipple with long strokes before flicking the edges with it’s tip. His lips open wide to capture your flesh while his teeth graze gently across the surface. You’re so distracted by this choreography that you almost jump when he inserts a long finger in to your body. His fingers are strong, yet gentle, as they slowly curl upwards inside you, sliding expertly against the scalloped tissue inside your body. He adds another finger to this dance, increasing the pressure and speed ever so slightly. His thumb has found the apex of your pleasure and is massaging slow circles, causing your hips to rock. Having soaked the lace covering your breast, he moves his mouth to start on the other cup. Your hands, which have been tangled in his hair, reach around to unhook your bra. You slide the bra down your shoulders and off your body. He latches on to your naked breast and hums his approval, nuzzling your skin with his nose. Your hips are squirming now, your breaths coming in short pants; you know you can’t hold out much longer. 

“Mulder” you breathe as his tongue circles your nipple. “Mulder, fuck me.” He catches your nipple in his teeth and presses his fingers deeper in to you.

“Mulder” you say again, this time you hope with slightly more conviction and his hand stills. He looks up, mouth still firmly attached to your breast. 

“Mulder, I want you, to get up here, and fuck me.”

There’s a gratifying popping sound as he releases your breast from his mouth. In an instant he’s removed his fingers, then his underwear, and he’s firmly seated between your thighs. He brushes the hair from your forehead and kisses you deep and long and then you feel him press himself inside you. He’s hot and hard and feels better than you could have ever imagined. He pulls back slowly and then goes in deeper until you’re completely full and you think that this is the best there has ever been. But you are so wrong because then he starts to move. You wrap your legs around him and watch his shoulders flex as he rocks the both of you in perfect rhythm. He dips down to kiss you and you capture that beautiful bottom lip, swiping your tongue across it before he pulls away. He’s starting to strain and you know he’s getting close; you are too. Things are starting to get blurry and your body is vibrating. You feel the familiar tightness across your lower abdomen and then you’re suddenly there. Your legs lock hard around him, your muscles clench and your back arches. Your hands grasp at the sheets, grabbing handfuls, and you forget to breathe. He has slowed his pace and is caressing your back with his hands, kissing your exposed neck softly while you twitch underneath him. When your body calms you look up at him, smiling, and give a small nod. He smiles back and picks his pace up again, this time hard and fast. A few more quick strokes and he’s gone. His body contracts and he drops his head on to your chest, breathing heavily while he empties himself in to you. When he’s finished, he rolls the both of you to your sides. He comes in for a few breathless kisses, his head sharing your pillow. He falls asleep first; his head tucked in your chest and a leg thrown over your hip. Somewhere in the night you both shift so that you are in the positions you were in on the couch back in California. Only this time, as your hand comes to lay on top of his, he shifts his hand so that your fingers are intertwined with his, locking your hands together, giving you the promise that tonight is only the beginning of incredible things to come.


End file.
